


tell me I got you

by lost_decade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Awkward Conversations, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 01:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10652448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_decade/pseuds/lost_decade
Summary: Lewis and Jenson finally go on that date.





	tell me I got you

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts since June last year and I've rewritten the damn thing at least three times since then. Finally it's in some sort of shape that I'm semi-happy with so here you go. 
> 
> Sort-of-sequel to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5970096), but could be read as a stand alone.
> 
> Set around the time of the 2016 Monaco Grand Prix.

Lewis looks carefully at his reflection in the mirror, finishing arranging his hair before pausing to spray some aftershave. It’s a new one and he’s not entirely sure he likes it all that much, but the others in his cabinet - well, they were all ones that either Nico or Nicole had been fond of, and he doesn’t really want to be reminded of either of them.

Especially not tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves; it’s ridiculous being nervous. It’s not as if he’s never been on a date before, it’s just that technically his last date had been, fuck - almost ten years ago. “Ten fucking years, man,” he says aloud. Roscoe looks up at him. “You think I’m crazy don’t you? Maybe I am crazy.”

It’s not as if there hasn’t been anyone in between his (admittedly coinciding) relationships. There have been several people, a girl he’d hung out on a yacht with for a memorable afternoon last year, a guy who’d sucked him off in the toilets of a club in Miami on New Year’s, but those were definitely not dates. And this, this definitely is.

*

“I never went on a date with Nico, actually.” Lewis finds himself saying forty-five minutes later, eyeing Jenson uncomfortably across the table. He wonders how it’s taken all of ten minutes for the conversation to converge on his teammate. Jenson has a twinkle in his eye, but he’s also quite obviously digging for information. And if there’s one subject that Lewis doesn’t want to discuss on a first date – any date for that matter – it’s his teammate.

“Never?” Jenson pressed.

“No, I mean, we were fifteen when we started sleeping together. It’s not like we ever actually, you know, dated.”

Jenson frowns at him, takes a sip of his wine. “Did you want to?” he asks. It’s the first time Lewis has ever even thought of it in those terms. It, dating Nico publicly, just wasn’t an option, ever. And so what was the point in ever considering it. But had he considered it back then, the answer would probably have been yes.

“It was impossible,” Lewis says.

“Who said it was impossible?”

Lewis is starting to feel slightly uncomfortable with the way this is going.

“It - look, you know what it’s like. You think we could have walked through the paddock holding hands, that people would’ve been okay with that?”

“I reckon they would've been more okay than you think. Most people knew. Like I said before, it wasn't that difficult to work out, mate.”

“The press wouldn't have been so okay. I wouldn't have put my career on the line like that.”

“Even if he'd wanted to?”

Lewis clears his throat, looking away from Jenson’s intense gaze.

“He didn't want to.” Lewis says, firmly. As first dates go, this isn't shaping up to be one of the best.

“Sorry, didn't mean to pry.” Jenson says, with a wave of his hand.

“Yeah you did. But don't worry about it. Me and Nico are ancient history now.”

Jenson hums infuriatingly at that.

“Why’d you wait so long anyway?” Lewis asks.

“Sorry?”

“After we kissed. Why didn't you call me? ‘I’ll call you tomorrow’ you said, four months ago.”

“Ahh, that. I guess I was worried I'd made an idiot of myself. It was easier to write it off as a drunken embarrassment. Or maybe I was working myself up to it.”

“Really, man,” Lewis teases, “you, embarrassed. Yeah sure. I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re impossible to embarrass.” Jenson smiles, as if at something that Lewis doesn’t quite understand. Although, Lewis thinks, how well does he actually know Jenson these days really.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought you did,” Jenson says, mirroring Lewis’ thoughts as he pores over the menu.

“Maybe not.” And, yeah, possibly Jenson has a point there.

Lewis thinks back to all their time as teammates, the endless McLaren PR. He remembers finding Jenson attractive, and there were a couple of incidents that looking back could definitely have been construed as flirting. But Jenson flirts with everyone and at the time he’d have to have shown up to the track naked and with a gigantic bow on his dick to prise Lewis’ attention away from Nico. But things had been good back then. Those were the days, the early days when he’d naively believed he would always be enough for Nico. It makes him feel stupid remembering how unrealistic all of his expectations had been.  

“My divorce came through yesterday.” Jenson says, sipping at his wine, a contemplative look on his face.

Maybe they’ll just fuck, Lewis thinks. Maybe that’s what this is, they’ll have a few more drinks and he’ll go back to Jense’s place, and that will be that. He hasn’t had sex in a while and maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. But there’s something about the idea that leaves Lewis feeling hollow, the thought of being Jenson’s rebound thing. _I’ve liked you for ages_ he’d said the last time, but 2AM nightclub confessions lose some of their gravity in the light of day. This might be a date but on what kind of date do you delve into your partner’s past relationships and then bring up your own divorce.

“I’m sorry, man.” Lewis replies. It’s about all he can say. Sorry your wife left you, sorry your car’s shit. Sorry that there’s a chance that even if this does lead somewhere I’ll probably never get over Nico anyway. No he won't say that, that’s a thought that doesn't sit comfortably even inside his own head.

“Forget I mentioned it,” Jenson says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You want to order food? The crab is supposed to be great here.”

It’s – it’s fine, the food is good, the place is slick and modern, low lighting and shiny bright red table-tops. Lewis has been wanting to come here since it opened, but if he’s honest these sort of places tend to blend into one after a while. He’s eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world, dripping in Michelin stars and prestige, but the best meal he’s ever had remains a takeaway pizza in a shabby hotel outside Rome the night that he lost his virginity to Nico.

Some things never leave you, and the memory forces itself to the forefront of his mind now, sitting opposite his ex-teammate. It’s not about the food though, it’s about the company, and Jenson has always been someone that’s easy to be around. It’s harder not to be relaxed around him than the other way around, and Lewis isn’t having a shit time exactly, it’s just that…he’d built this night up in his mind, attaching a certain level of meaning to it that now feels absent.

Jenson has the potential to be his new start, he reminds himself.

In fact, he can almost picture it, the two of them standing together on the float during track parades, Jenson only having eyes for him. They could steal some time together during all those tedious moments hanging around between practice sessions, sneaking away into one of their motorhomes, Jenson’s hands on him, strong and assertive. Or, Jenson bending him over the desk just before a race and sending him out onto the track sore and sated, the adrenaline of the race mingling with the endorphins from his orgasm. He shivers a little, his jeans feeling tighter than they were a few minutes ago.

They make small talk as the evening progresses, easy and relaxed enough that the tension, both sexual and awkward-first-date just hovers in the background. Lewis fills any silences with anecdotes about Roscoe and Coco and Jenson laughs along, commenting that they’re like his children. Lewis privately thinks how they’ll never have the ability to damage him the way some people have, but he keeps that to himself. Still, something about the evening feels slightly off. But then maybe dates are like this; Lewis wouldn't really know.

The sommelier pours out the remainder of the bottle of wine and Lewis swirls it around in the glass, absent-mindedly looking around. He spots someone that he knows at a table in the corner, nodding a brief hello.

Jenson follows his gaze. “This isn’t going all that well is it?” he asks.

“Honestly, it was better before you mentioned, err, my teammate and your divorce.”

“Yeah, sorry. Fuck, I’m messing this up aren’t I?” And this is new - the way Jenson seems almost nervous. 

“No, no I just, I didn’t even know that you were,” Lewis lowers his voice, “into men, and then you tell me that you have a _thing_ for me and then don’t mention it for months. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”

“Okay, well there’s been quite a few guys. No one you know, and it was always just casual. No one that I ever wanted anything serious with.” He looks at Lewis levelly across the table and the slight implication in his words makes Lewis’ heart leap. “I’m going to leave at the end of the year, whether an extension is offered or not.”

Lewis takes a gulp of the wine, trying to assess if what he thinks Jenson is saying is actually what he’s saying. If his earlier words about being in a relationship publicly were a test to see if that's something Lewis would consider _now_ , with him.

“Leave McLaren, or leave-leave?”

“I think it’s the right time, don’t you?”

“You’ve got more race wins in you.”

“I think so, too. But it's not worth it anymore, by the time the car’s good enough they'll have lined up someone else to drive it. And where else is there? I’m tired, Lewis. I feel...old. Like I’m trying to be young.”

Lewis snickers. “Really, man?”

“Hey, yes really. I’m through. I’ve thought about it a lot and I want...other things.”

Lewis ponders for a moment over what other things it might be that Jenson wants. He thinks he knows. He’s almost sure of it when Jenson reaches across the table and places his hand over Lewis’. He could dive headfirst into this, but not now, not while his career is where it is. It would be suicide.

Pulling his hand away, Lewis sighs, avoiding Jenson’s eyes.

“I like you, Jense, a lot. Seriously I do – ” he says.

Jenson groans dramatically, dropping his head into his hands. “You’re not giving me the speech. Seriously, Lewis. I’m the one who gives the speech, always. No exceptions. Apart from, you know, Jess, obviously.” He looks up, looking Lewis in the eye.

“I’m not giving you ‘the speech’. I’m just saying that anything we have couldn’t be common knowledge, not while I’m racing. And if you mean it about leaving…I can’t get involved like that and then have you go.”

“Yeah…I thought it was worth suggesting,” Jenson says.

“You know that I couldn’t. Not now at least.”

“No, I know. It’s too much for me to ask.”

Lewis knows what Jenson is thinking - that if it was Nico asking the question then his answer might be different. Maybe it would be. Lewis hates himself a little for that.

“I get it, really I do. It’s not as if I’m in love with you or anything.” Jenson grins, but the moment feels unbearably tense.

“Of course not,” Lewis replies, laughing as though in saying that, Jenson hadn’t just kind of affirmed that he actually is. Or might be. Fuck.

“What would you do anyway if you retire?”

“I don’t know mate, go to L.A., get a dog; not like there’s a shortage of beautiful women out there either, falling over themselves to sleep with a world champion racing driver. House in Malibu, pool parties. There are worse ways to live.”

Lewis blinks a couple of times, attempting to process this.

“Sounds like fun,” he says finally, with a jokey, laddish edge to his voice. And if the previous half hour hadn’t have happened he would’ve kind of seen that as being typically Jenson, rolling along with the regular old James Hunt stereotype: cars, girls, decadence. It might have worked better if five minutes ago Jenson hadn’t just been suggesting they get together and turn both of their lives upside down for each other.

“We could go and get a drink somewhere,” Lewis suggests when the bill has been settled up. “Hey I could take you to the Fairmont for one of those cocktails with the leaves in, as you wouldn’t let me pay for dinner. Or, you could come back to my place?”

There’s a wistful look in Jenson’s eyes that belies the smile on his lips, and Lewis feels like the worst person in the world.

“Not tonight,” Jenson says, touching a hand to Lewis’ cheek as they step outside. “Maybe some other time.”   


End file.
